


Contradictions and Errors

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon Compliant, John Watson's confessions, Kinda, M/M, The Empty House, Unfinished, very victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 19:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I have often been told by friends and by readers of the Strand that my stories are full of contradictions and errors, but they assume too much by supposing that these are accidental continuity errors. I, John H. Watson M.D, am a liar. I console myself with the thought that at least my lies are not selfish, but rather they are told for the protection of the person who matters to me the most, Sherlock Holmes.





	Contradictions and Errors

I have often been told by friends and by readers of the Strand that my stories are full of contradictions and errors, but they assume too much by supposing that these are accidental continuity errors. I, John H. Watson M.D, am a liar. I console myself with the thought that at least my lies are not selfish, but rather they are told for the protection of the person who matters to me the most, Sherlock Holmes.

In my earlier work I made a few indiscretions by calling him 'bohemian' and 'eccentric' and although those are perfectly apt descriptions of his character they cast shadows onto his masculinity which would count heavily against him should anyone ever press charges in a public court. I have always played up my own masculinity and so many of my acquaintances assume I am an incessant womanizer and incorrigible flirt, which is true to some extent, but my secret is that although women are lovely creatures there is something about the male sex that has always drawn my eye. I met Sherlock Holmes back in 1881 and I was enthralled immediately, but caution and fear prevented me from so much as considering the possibility that Sherlock would share my own inclinations. I was invited to join him on cases and I gratefully joined him on our many adventures, and it was on one of those adventures that I felt a spark of hope. The Adventure of the Yellow Face in 1884 as my readers will recall, involved the little negress born to an English woman and her loving negro husband, who soon died and the woman was forced to leave her daughter behind and marry an English man who had no knowledge of her prior husband's heritage nor of their daughter. Holmes' generosity towards the child, and his encouragement towards the shocked Englishman to accept her as his daughter, had me wondering if it was only in race issues that Holmes was so liberal, but I wasn't to find out until A Scandal in Bohemia exactly how much Holmes preferred the male sex over its counterpart.

I had married Mary Morstan once I had decided that pining over Sherlock in our shared quarters was truly pathetic and that I should move on; however upon the eve of the raid at Miss. Adler's rooms, Holmes and I stayed up all night talking and somehow we got onto the topic of marriage and Holmes said something along the lines of “I never thought you would settle down with a woman.” I had looked up sharply with barely concealed panic and asked “Why ever not Holmes?” his reply was to slowly lean forward in his chair and stare at me intently before stating that he knew I was attracted to women sexually but not romantically, and that a marriage ought to be about both. 

I must have paled significantly because Holmes put a hand out in a calming gesture and said “Do not worry. I share your predilection and your secret is safe with me.”

I did not ask how he knew, but I suppose I must have given myself away several times during our friendship whenever I looked at an attractive man for more then a split second. Holmes' reassuring smile that calmed my nerves, but that same smile caused some thoughts to flash through my mind which I had forcibly contained and which had no place in my head when I was sitting across from a man who had several times proven that he could read minds. I was at this point that Holmes began to look at me quizzically, and I knew that I had not concealed my thoughts from him. I hurriedly made my excuses before it had even struck me that he said he shared my predilection for the male sex.

The streets were quiet that evening and I had only made it a few streets when his meaning finally sunk in. I stood numbly staring at my reflection on a store front window asking myself if there was the vaguest possibility Holmes found me attractive. My mind threw me back to everything negative he had ever said about emotions, and in less then an hour my brain has convinced itself that it was in no way possible that Holmes would view my interest in him favourably.

It took that wretched fall and the long absence before the topic was ever breached again. 

Those years had taken their toll, and when the disguised Holmes entered my office I had aged considerably. Mary had passed away several months earlier and I was left with a growing practice that I cared little for. Holmes' disappearance had signaled the beginnings of a depression which Mary didn't understand and which was not improved by her own slow decline which made happiness impossible. The story I published about Holmes disguising himself and reappearing in my office is true, but I excluded my violent reaction and replaced it with a fictional account of blacking out, I will however recount the true events here.

“HOLMES” I cried upon returning my gaze to the man who had been sitting across from me, only to see half his costume laying on my desk and a dead man in his place. I stood, knocking my chair down, and all he said was a suave “Hello, Watson. I trust you didn't miss me.”

It was a long moment before my shocked brain accepted the vision that sat infront of me smirking, and then suddenly all I could feel was rage. He had left me. He took away the only source of excitement so that he could play dead. He played dead while I wished I were. I hated everything about my life, I had spent almost three years diagnosing mild colds all day, only to come home at night to watch my wife slowly waste away. I had had no one, my dearest friend lay dead at the bottom of some European waterfall, and there was no one else to whom I would express my unhappiness. He should have been there for me, but he had been too busy gallivanting around doing god-knows-what under a pseudonym. I looked upon his smirking face and saw red.

I truly have no memory of the following events but when regained awareness I saw that Holmes lay on my rug, bleeding copiously from his nose and my fist was covered in his blood.

“Oh my God.” was the only words to slip through my lips, and it hurt to see Holmes tense up as if expecting another blow. When he perceived that I had returned to my senses, he looked up to see me standing in shock against my desk repeating the word 'impossible' under my breath.

“Doctor?” 

That word brought me up sharp, and with sudden mental clarity I saw what sat before me, an injured man who needed my help. I quickly reached for my medical kit while Holmes sat up with a grunt and wince. I straddled Holmes' legs in order to more easily reach his face, and holding his head gently I began wiping the blood away with a moistened handkerchief. Holmes' eyes never left my face as I cleaned up and treated the bruises that were already forming on the right side of his nose and on his jaw. Two blows to the face, enough to knock him off his chair, and a swift kick to the ribs which was obviously paining him, was thankfully all the damage I had wrought to his beautiful body. Once my task was done I sat in shamed horror beside him on the rug.

“Holmes, I-”

“I suppose I deserved that.” He said looking at me ashamedly. “I wasn't really thinking.

On any other occasion I would have asked him to repeat that and to give it to me in writing so that his mental lapse would forever be remembered, but I was too busy trying to restrain my emotions to attempt a joke.

“Do you know what you have put me through?” I asked through clenched teeth as the anger returned. Holmes looked away and dabbed away the last drop of blood from his nose. “I mourned you Holmes, I mourned you for longer then I mourned my wife! Three years! She was sick for two of them and I had no one—You should have been there to—'' This is where my fury devolved into sorrow and I could no longer hold back the tears as all the pain, loneliness and grief of the past three years crashed upon me.

I brought my hands up to my face and shrunk away from the man I cared most for in the world as sobs shook my body, and I was lost. I soon felt two large hands grip my shoulders, before I was wrapped in a warm embrace.

I know not how long we stayed on the floor, but when I finally felt fit to look up I came in contact with eyes filled with apologies and regret. I reached for my handkerchief but I remembered that I had given it to Holmes for his nosebleed, but before I could express my want, Holmes was pressing his own handkerchief against my face, gently wiping away the evidence of my pain. I felt his hand softly cup the side of my head while his other hand worked, I wanted to look at him and to relish this unguarded moment, but my eyes fell like lead to the floor and remained fixated there. A soft brush of Holmes' thumb brought my eyes to his, and for the longest moment I knew he wanted nothing else but to close the distance between us, but something held him back and instead he gave a small smile and embraced me tighter.

“I have truly missed you John.”

I felt confused by the use of my christian name, but the confusion was swept away as I felt a kiss being pressed on my forehead.

“Sherlock?” Holmes' christian name sounded odd on my lips, but only because it had never escaped my lips even though it was the name I used during the wild fantasies that filled my mind whenever I lay alone in the dark.

He gave a shy smile and embraced me again. Relief and happiness flooded through me again and I was lost in happy thoughts before I finally came to myself and realized it was getting late and Holmes must be hungry as I could practically feel his ribs through his layers of clothing. I gently pulled away and stood up before offering my hand to Holmes “We should get something to eat, you look like you haven't had a proper meal since you left.”

My companion smiled and admitted that it had been a rather difficult past few years.

When we returned later that evening I offered my friend the spare room that Mary had once dreamed of turning into a nursery, but as we had never achieved pregnancy the room still contained the bed and convenient furnishings that had remained there when the previous owners had moved out. Holmes accepted it gratefully, as I suspect he had been staying at Mycroft's apartments, which he had always disliked and he was thankful to be able to stay with me. For my part it was a relief to have him over, because the house had felt dreadfully empty and I was in desperate need of a close companion. When I finally found myself in my bed I had to restrain myself from going to check that Holmes was not a vision that had disappeared, and it was after two hours of insufferable wakefulness that I finally gave up, and grabbing my dressing gown I returned to the room where so few hours ago Sherlock Holmes had defeated death. I must have stood there for quite some time before I heard the gentle fall of footsteps behind me.

“Can't sleep?” asked my friend's voice.

“No.”

He stayed silent for a minute before asking “Why can't you sleep?”

I turned to face him and noted the exhaustion written in every feature in a way that mirrored the way I felt everytime a nightmare of the war kept me awake. “I am afraid I'll wake up and the house will be empty.”

Holmes reached out and took my hand saying “I am not a figment of your imagination” 

I wrapped my hands around his chilled fingers “You could be a very vivid hallucination.”

“A hallucination? Brought on by what?”

“I don't know, maybe the poisonous fumes excreted by some mold growing in those books you brought in while disguised as the old man.”

Holmes raised an eyebrow “Poisonous fumes from moldy books?” 

“Go ahead and laugh, it's more plausible then resurrection from the dead.”

“I was not dead.” Holmes said almost indignantly. 

“That is not the point.” I said with a wry smile. “Why are you still awake? You look like you really have spent that past three years in a grave.” 

Holmes looked down and at our hands which were still joined, “I find it difficult to believe I am back. The past few years have been very stressful and I am afraid I'll wake up and discover that I am not in London but in some foreign city under a false name still hunting down one of Moriarty's men.”

I was filled with such sadness I could not meet his eyes, but rather I looked at our hands and summoning more courage then I had had in years I said “Come on.” and lead him to my room saying “This way I'll know you are real until I fall asleep. If it turns out you are a vision then I can deal with that tomorrow morning.”

Holmes followed me shyly, and hesitated before finally deciding that this would benefit us both and slipping in beside me.

I woke up to the greatly missed feeling of being in a bed that was being warmed by two bodies. Holmes' face was placid and he was sprawled over most of the bed allowing me only a tiny portion which he was invading with an arm that was thrown over my chest. The relief of seeing his face pushed aside the mild irritation I felt at the colonization of well over half my bed and I slowly slipped out from under his arm to begin my morning routine.

Upon finishing my toilette, I paid a visit to my neighbor and asking him to take over my practice for the day, I found myself free from obligations and I returned home to find Holmes at the breakfast table being served tea. He smiled widely when I entered exclaiming

“Ah! I am glad to have you back Watson! We have a very busy day ahead of us.”

I smiled and sat down to eat.

-

By busy Holmes meant that we had to go to Bakerstreet and spend the entire day going through his scrapbooks. Bakerstreet was much as he had left it but for five identical large boxes. Holmes opened all of them and to my surprise four contained documents, but the fifth held a life size bust of Holmes!

“What on earth is that for?” I asked as I removed it from its box.

Holmes smiled slyly at me “You will see.”

I sighed and muttering about bloated ego I turned to the boxes and began pull out all papers filed under 'A'.  
-  
To my surprise and relief the boxes of papers were so well organized that it only took until the early evening to finish putting them away. All this time Holmes had been most insist that I remain away from the windows, and Mrs. Hudson had received a scolding when she suggested we open the curtains a bit more as they were only half-way drawn. I did not comment on Holmes' apparent continued paranoia about airguns and it wasn't until the clock struck five when he finally turned his attention to the bust, and asking for my help he sat it on a chair directly in front of the window before wrapping it in his dressing robe.

“It will cast a nice shadow will it not Watson?”

“I should say so. Anyone looking at this window once it is darker outside and we have lit the lamps will think it to be you”

Holmes smiled “You will see later tonight why it is I fear airguns,” looking around he continued “Now Watson, you must leave. Get a cab and loudly declare your intention of going home. Once you arrive at your house go inside and wait an hour before slipping unnoticed out through the window in the spare room. I noticed last night that the window is obscured by a bush and allows for easy escape to an alley way which will allow you to arrive at the main street without those watching your house noticing.”

“Why is my house being watched?”

“To ensure you won't leave it. I am hunting the last piece of Moriarty's network tonight and he knows you are here. I will meet you at this address” Holmes handed me a piece of paper “Be there at seven.”

I nodded and grabbing my coat I turned to leave when Holmes called my name. I turned and met his eyes, he didn't say anything but gave me a shy smile and I returned it with the enthusiasm of an infatuated girl. 

-  
The story which follows is much the same as in the version told in the Strand. Holmes and I got a cab at seven, and taking a very convoluted route we arrive opposite to Bakerstreet where we hid in the empty house until Colonel Sebastian Moran shot a hole through Holmes' bust whose shadow was so perfectly displayed. Lestrade's aid in the arrest and our return to our old rooms was followed by the most extravagant dinner Mrs. Hudson had ever served us. She kept repeating how happy she was to have us back, and how she hoped I would return to my old room. Holmes watched her with laughing eyes and I was touched by the affection she showed my friend. When she finally retired and we were alone, we continued to eat in silence until Holmes cleared his throat.

“Jo-Watson, if you ever decide that you wish to sell your practice, I would be honoured to have you here in our old rooms.”

I looked at him and smiled “You can call me by my christian name when we are alone.” To my surprise Holmes stammered something that sounded like “Alright then” and flushed a light pink.

Recovering himself he said “Oh in that case-Sherlock is fine in private too. I-I am sorry if I make blunders like that—I haven't been in this kind of situation before and I hardly know what is acceptable.”

The understanding dawned on me and forgetting the pie that I had been serving myself I raised an eyebrow in astonishment “You've never...?” Holmes shook his head. “So as in nothing with no one?” Holmes nodded. “Really? Never? How have you not died of frustration?”

Holmes looked at the leftover potatoes “I was too much of a coward in university, a friend of mine wanted to introduce me to some of his acquaintances, but my brother would have found out and that is a fate worse then death, so instead I used cocaine. After I left the college I was too busy trying to perfect my skills and then I met you and I could not be interested in anyone else.”

I looked at him. A man barely forty years of age, who had maintained his handsome features for the ten years I had known him. I was surprised at the declaration that meeting me had put all thoughts of all others out of his mind, and my heart filled with sadness as I thought of what he must have endured knowing that he could never have me. I rose to my feet and purpousfully strode to the curtains and pulled them all shut, then after locking the door I turned to the man who sat watching me at the table.

Sherlock looked petrified as I approached him, and it wasn't until I laid one hand on his shoulder and another cupping his jaw that he allowed the passion he had restrained for so many years to break free. 

I need not go into details, but suffice it to say that by the time we stumbled into my old room, Holmes was left with no doubts of my true affections. 

The following morning was as sweet as mornings with your loved one could be, and while Holmes was dressing I took the opportunity to go to the other room and to pull out the sheets lest Mrs. Hudson should become suspicious. However as it turned out it was a precaution that was entirely unnecessary because when Mrs. Hudson came up with the breakfast she took one look at me and looking at the heavens exclaimed “Thank God! I knew that was why the door was locked.” She then glared at me “You were killing that poor boy with your stupidity. Now I hope you didn't mess up the other bed in an attempt to fool me.” I must have flushed because she was on me in an instant.

“Dr. Watson! You will work me to death.” She said shuffling off to the room in question. I sheepishly sat down and poured myself some tea. A minute later Mrs. Hudson returned from restoring the unused bed to perfection and I prepared myself for more scolding but instead she just wrapped her arms around me and said “I am so happy for you. That poor boy has been devoted to you since you two became friends, it's been heartbreaking to watch him all these years.” At this point her eyes were so full of tears that I offered her my handkerchief and she left the room blowing her nose. I sat in utter shock until Holmes entered the room.

“I see Mrs. Hudson has no objections.”

I turned to look at him with suspicion “How on earth—Did you say something to her?”

Holmes shook his head “No I didn't. Mrs. Hudson is a remarkably observant woman that is all.”

“Well I guess that simplifies things.” I said.

Sherlock smiled and kissing me said “Yes it does.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago...I haven't read it through since I last worked on it sooooo excuse any errors. Like I said it is unfinished. Sorry.


End file.
